Paranoid
by TheHarlequinnCat
Summary: I wrote this high as shit. Ok. But I think it flows well, it's a super sad depressing Rick goes crazy after taking some drugs story. We delve into some completely hypothetical problems, very sad. WARNINGS: tw; suicide implied, rape mention, drug/alcohol abuse


Richard Sanchez was many things over the span of many years, and had seen every possibility that could happen in his collective lifespan except the fate of his own dimension. It was enough to make anyone a little paranoid, but considering the special circumstances he was under, what use was that excuse?

... He wasn't quite sure how he was supposed to feel when his beloved daughter finally gave into Jerry's request to take him to this stupid motherfucking mental ward. He was too brilliant for this, far too brilliant. But instead of proud, Jerry looked damn scared, 'and you better damn well bitch,' Rick's conscience snarled. The doctor's room was hardly remarkable, the walls were bleak and painfully resembled tofu squares stacked upon one another; he had once been to a dimension made entirely of softness, it wasn't even plausible softness, there wasn't any reason or rhyme but he had the best nap in the cool abyss of surrealist-. He tuned back in to the world, catching up with the nervous faces and a paper being pushed under his nose.

"Dad. Dad!" Beth choked out, her eyes were blurred with tears, he came to focus on her. He was so intelligent, so fucking intelligent, how come he couldn't say anything right now? "It's only a couple weeks. Please dad, I want you to get better." She sobbed more freely now, "You have to get better. You have to g-"

He zoned out again, wondering when his daughter became so old. How had she morphed to the shadow of his problems, his phrases, she was so many types of high strung though. Remarkably clever, he knew if he had never left she would've been just as smart as he was; if not more. He hoped Morty would be the most impressionable, on account of his resemblance to Jerry. And constantly in awe of his knowledge, he felt like a motherfucking hero! Beth-

"Mr. Sanchez." The paper was no longer in front of his face, but the pen was in his hand. His shaking hand. Why was he shaking? He couldn't recall, his mind was positively hazy. Unsure of it being the bong toke he took at 3:34 a.m. with Summer in the basement, or the whiskey in his oatmeal, or possibly that little seed from Planet A-37834 that made his feet feel as though he were submerged in concrete and everything smelled of cotton candy. Drugs that had unfathomable highs, way better than this stupid bullshit. Was it the alcoholism? Beth was as bad as he was, certainly she couldn't put him in a rehab for being a drunk. She wasn't any different, she was his little girl, that was one thing he couldn't deny.

" .Mr.-" He was being led away, something was trying to pull at the cotton fabric of his blue sweater. He knew he couldn't turn back, the grasping hands reaching for him, Beth was crying. Beth was crying. Crying. The word warped in his head, he turned his head to see her beautiful blonde hair cling to her tear-soiled cheeks. Her face was blotched and red. Jerry held her back, his face puffed up in strain of his firecracker of a daughter. His little girl. Baby girl. He hated to see her cry, and somehow in the foggy confusion he mustered some kernel of maturity and wisdom. He stood still, the nurses strong hands clasped to his shoulders, in the hallway of the rehab on his way to his room. Just outside the lobby when Beth changed her mind, and came after him. The security was there, and he could've sworn someone got pepper-sprayed. Jerry sure looked shit out of his ass scared. It was funny, a sliver of silver lining he was glad to take, it was the last joy he'd feel for the next three weeks.

"Sweetie. D-Daddy's coming home soon. I'll be back, just euh-fff-you see. And we'll go look at the stars and go visit your special Beth m-mall-" He was being walked off again. His words blubbering into confused outbursts as she grew smaller in his field of vision. He could no longer see her except for blurs, and cursed the glasses he forgot to wear, and these men hauled his ass off. But it was only a couple nights, right? He could use some quiet place to crash at until this high wore off...

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 _"DAmmit!" Rick hissed as he don' rammed head first straight into the door that he did not open. It was pitch black in the garage, but he wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. Dammit. Somebody had to turn on the lights, where was Morty when he was actually needed? Groaning, the old man kicked at the closed garage door aggressively, once or twice. Then the little knob turned apprehensively, slowly. Maybe kicking the door was a magic spell, hell yeah, he'd believe that in this mindset._

 _"About f-fucjcuuurrp fucking time." Rick slurred sarcastically, pushing the door open and knocking something into the wall. He was sure it was fine. Not his problem that some dumb shit stood behind the door waiting to get hit. Immediately he tripped on some fluffy lump, that yipped and squealed and ran away with its fuzzy little tail tucked between his legs. It reminded him of Morty, fondly reminded him of Morty. He was lucky he did not fall over, he thinks to himself. A goblin that looked something like Jerry came from behind the door, its nose bleeding profusely and its words loud. The trollish creature waved his nubby arms and came closer to him, Rick felt the vibrations in his left testicle, and wondered why people didn't pay attention to all the little shakes and movements of their own bodies. He could've sworn he felt the walls breathing, and this angry LITTLE man with his LITTLe dog is fucking with his high. Some coked up bastard with a bloody nose. He wonders if he got into another barfight? One time he fought a burly handsome twin, and ended up fucking with one of them by the end of the night.. What does Jerry want?_

 _The lights are on now. Summer is crying. Beth isn't home. Neither is Morty, he went to some party. Rick is certain his party was a lot more fun than Morty's. But it's time to come home, he's ready to fucking party. "Jer-ururrp-Jerry. Hey. Hey man. It's all fu-u-ckin cool, right? Y-yt" He puts his head down, confused, "You know how i-it is." He belches grossly, his hand on this bleeding man's back. "N-nu. Where's my daughte.r.." He looks around. He begins to amble aimlessly, until he ends upstairs in the master bedroom, mumbling about her mother's eyes and the color green as he falls into a deep sleep._

 _He wakes up in the morning and Jerry tells him he's sorry. Rick is not sure why._

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It was the end of the first week and he was pissed as all fucking hell. He tried to break a motherfucker the fuck open, only to remember Beth's crying face and his guilt. He wondered if there was a dimension he could've visited to see if rehab would actually make him happy. But why was he here? Stupid Jerry.

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 _Beth spotted her father downstairs, rummaging through the old chest. Some time after she had what they called the 'total rickall' incident at the house... Jerry took some time alone to figure himself out writing poetry in Starbucks, Morty was more confident, and Summer seemed to be awfully sulky and filled with teen angst. But Rick? She found out in that day that Vietnam had been a legitimate part of her father's past, and began to wonder just how far fucked her father was. She also had no idea what shit he saw in other dimensions, and she knew nobody liked to talk about the elephant in the room but her dad had some quirks that nobody could bring up. His nonsensical confused phrases she could live with, or that 'typical grandpa' unpredictable asshole behavior. But he did not sleep, she could hear him coughing and moving all through the night. She remembers he didn't want to go to the Fourth of July party she threw the first time he came home, the fireworks made his hands shake violently. He used to go sit in her room or Summer's room when they slept, watching them intently. Usually it was Morty's room. The doors and windows were always locked, and the superstitions her father held were profound. She had tried to cut a loose thread that stuck on the back of his shirt, and when she came close he had batted her hand and knocked the scissors to the floor. His face was pulled in a tight expression as he watched his daughter break down. "Why would you think I would ever want to hurt you?" She whimpered, and crumpled to the floor. Rick hadn't even flinched, and seemed to have forgotten the ordeal but minutes later._

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Week two is that post-prostitute STD you catch after spending too many flurbos at the rumpskump hotels. Yeah, he went there, racist but true. They let him see Morty, who watched as he threw up into a bucket that sat by his bed. The awkward boy hugged him for a very long time, Rick didn't know what to say, but he felt as though he were forgiven. They fell asleep in that bed until Jerry picked his son up from the facility.

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 _After the Jellybean incident, Morty was terribly shaken up for months to come. He cowered from the public restrooms, even those at his school. How many adventures Rick had to take a motherfucking piss break with his grandson? But he didn't complain, he would make light of the situation. After all. He knew what it felt like, everyone has their scary experiences. He knew what it. Felt like. He knew what it. The thought echoed in his head, stopping him, he couldn't keep a straight train of concentration. Why was he worried? Where was Morty? Why was his heart beating so fast and his head pulsing, he needed another hit._

 _He wakes Jerry up in the middle of the night and tells him he doesn't have to be afraid anymore, and that he understands what rape can do. He knows what unwanted wandering hands can do, and the silence it brings, the burden of savagery. In the confusion, Rick realizes that this is not Morty, but this Morty is crying. This ugly fucking Morty. He falls asleep in the bed. And wakes up to coffee at the side table with a note that says 'Thank You'. Rick wonders why he cannot stop crying, and why his heart feels violated somewhere deep down._

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Final week. Rehab 1, Rick 0. They have him on some seriously mind-numbing shit drugs. He's finally understanding why Morty and Jerry get so frustrated. They are saying there is a procedure that needs to be done, and he doesn't understand why he is signing another paper, but they later tell him that Electric Shock was not covered by his insurance, and that he ought to. Reschedule? On a different day. He nods his head as though he understands, but is frightened as to what made him sign the paper in the first place. He wants his way out already, and nothing was more humiliating than this...

Later that day Beth busts him out, she knocked over the guest check-in, and stepped on his bottle of pills. She took him home, silent the entire car ride home. He is happy she is here, she seems so distant from him. Or is it him? He can't tell if he is himself or some lost entity, and he smiles at the thought of giving himself as one to become unity; become a higher being and a happier being.

Her red eyes read over his medical bill when they park in the driveway, he peeks over to read the bill. But it's odd because the bill says he has PTSD, dementia, and major depressive disorder. Was that OCD or BPD? He can't read anymore. Whatever. Fuck seeing. He gets out of the car, and nearly forgets that he cannot go through the window. Beth holds his hand, he isn't sure why she is but he knows it is meant to be reassuring and entertains the idea that it could be.

"I love you daddy." She falters, leading him to his own room as she tucks him into bed. She kisses his forehead and brings him what looks like edible tape. "We.. got connected with some of your friends. T-Through Morty. They said that this should reverse the e-effects of that hallucinogen you took. Open your mouth." She says gently, he is complying and she puts the piece of tape on his tongue. "Those drugs you were taking were really bad... you were acting crazy. You." She covers her mouth, "You tried to kill yourself, daddy."

...

Rick wakes up in pain. But he is not confused, he is grounded, and he does not remember what happened necessarily, but he knows that whatever it was... He doesn't want to remember it. Everyone is very nice to him, they laugh at his mean snark comments. Jerry acts like he's Doofus Rick, and it's fucking gross. Morty practically makes him go to bed, makes sure he stays up with him. Other than that... Things seem normal enough. More Ricks in other dimensions are showing up dead, and of course the Council of Ricks isn't sure what parasite could make Ricks kill themselves. This Rick knows its the sadness, but all the Ricks combined? Nobody would admit they had a problem. Things never go back to normal completely... But they all forget what happened, he still wonders.


End file.
